


Masters of Smiling through the Pain

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, sad boys bonding over sadness, sad gabe, tw: suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:53:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3504074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s four o’clock in the morning when Pete’s eyes crack open reluctantly, and he fumbles around on his nightstand to stop the obnoxious ring of his phone.  Once his fingers finally curl around the device, he considers just clicking ‘ignore’ and going back to bed. After all, there’s only one person who would call him at this time, and Pete’s nowhere near awake enough to match Gabe’s drunken ramblings. Despite that, he finds himself pressing the green button and sighing into the phone. “Hey, Gabe,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s four o’clock in the morning when Pete’s eyes crack open reluctantly, and he fumbles around on his nightstand to stop the obnoxious ring of his phone. Once his fingers finally curl around the device, he considers just clicking ‘ignore’ and going back to bed. After all, there’s only one person who would call him at this time, and Pete’s nowhere near awake enough to match Gabe’s drunken ramblings. Despite that, he finds himself pressing the green button and sighing into the phone. “Hey, Gabe,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.

For a few moments, there’s nothing but shaky breathing on the other end of the line. “Pete. I didn’t think you’d pick up,” Gabe finally greets. His voice is weirdly distorted; it’s low and wobbly, thick but stretched thin at the same time. 

“I thought about ignoring you,” Pete admits, because he’s always been honest with Gabe. “Are you alright? You sound fucked up, dude,” he continues, sitting up in bed. He’s never heard Gabe this quiet before; it’s just not his nature. Pete’s stomach is churning as he waits for a response.

“When am I not fucked up?” Gabe retorts, but there’s none of his usual good humor in it. The phrase drips with bitterness, and Pete winces at the sound of it. “If you want to go back to bed, I can hang up,” he offers.

Pete feels his heart drop at that. Gabe wasn’t a bad person, but he wasn't the type of person to be so considerate of others, either. Just about every single person who knew Gabe had at least one story to tell where he’d kept them up at ungodly hours of the night rambling about anything and everything. If Gabe was offering to hang up, something wasn’t right. “Where are you?” Pete asks, because Gabe is really starting to worry him.

“What? ...It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know why I called. See you later,” Gabe mutters in reply. 

“Don’t you dare hang up, Gabe,” Pete warns. He’s out of bed now, pulling on his jacket and shoes. “Where are you?” 

The silence that follows lasts for so long, Pete thinks Gabe might have hung up after all. Just as he’s about to curse and hunt the man down himself, however, there is a whisper. 

“My place. I’m fine, Pete. Forget I called.” This is followed by a soft click, which makes Pete roll his eyes and scowl because Gabe is clearly not fine, and he’d better not think Pete’s idiotic enough to not realize that.

Ten minutes later, Pete’s letting himself into Gabe’s apartment, pocketing the key he didn’t remember receiving, probably because they’d both been drunk when he’d gotten it. 

“Gabe, how drunk are you, did you take any drugs, or are you sick?” he asks as he closes the door. The apartment is dark, but a light shines from underneath the bedroom doorway. 

“I told you to forget I called, Pete,” comes a tired croak from behind said door. 

“And I didn’t listen because that’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Also, you didn’t answer my questions,” Pete replies as he heads over and lets himself into that room, too. What he sees makes him stop in his tracks, stilling so suddenly it’s almost cartoon-ish. “What the fuck,” he breathes.

Gabe is sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands clenched tightly around a gun, which he has pressed up against his temple. He’s strangely calm, his sunken eyes staring at the wall ahead of him instead of Pete, or even the gun for that matter. His breathing is as steady as his hands, and that might be what’s freaking Pete out the most. 

Closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh, Gabe mutters, “I didn’t answer because I’m not. Any of those things. I’m just fucking tired.” It’s the only indication he gives that he’s even aware that Pete’s in the room.

Pete swallows, stepping cautiously into the room and feeling himself beginning to shake because his best fucking friend in the world is holding a gun to his head, and Pete hadn’t even realized that anything was wrong before now. “Gabe, put the gun down. Talk to me, okay? What the fuck is going on?” he pleads, and holy shit, he was so not prepared for this.

“What the fuck does it look like, Pete?” Gabe exclaims, his shoulders tensing. He pulls the gun away from his temple and clicks the safety back on, only to swivel around and shoot Pete a glare. “You should have just gone back to sleep. I said it was fine,” he snaps.

Pete is still slowly approaching even though Gabe’s put the gun down, not wanting to risk anything quite yet. “I know when you’re lying, asshole. You are not fucking fine, so stop being such a jackass and talk to me about it,” he demands.  
Gabe snorts bitterly. “Sure, Pete, insult the man with a gun in his hands. We’ll see how well that goes,” he mutters, and he turns his gaze back on the weapon in his hands.

With the other’s gaze averted, Pete takes the chance to rush forward, hovering beside the bed. “Gabe,” he murmurs, a reminder of his presence and a warning wrapped into one.  
Something visibly breaks in Gabe, and his shoulders slump as a wail slips past his lips. He looks up at Pete with tears pooling in his bruised eyes, his fingers loosening their grip on the gun. “I’m sorry, Pete. I just want to be left alone. I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t. I’m sick of pretending to be happy all the time. It’s fucking exhausting, and I’m done. I’m just so fucking done,” he whispers.

For the first time, Pete looks at Gabe and finally sees someone who really gets him. Not in just a drunk, let's-do-stupid-shit-normal-people-would-regret way, but in an honest to god, soul deep understanding way. Maybe it's not what he should be thinking about when his best friend is having a break down in front of him, but Pete's mind has never been one to follow acceptable routes. So, as tears stream down Gabe's face, Pete gently takes the gun from his hands and sets it aside. He wraps his arms around the other as tightly as he can and whispers, "I know," because it's all he can really think to say.

After a few moments, Gabe wraps his arms around Pete, too, and he begins to cry in earnest. As Gabe’s body shakes with the force of his sobs, Pete mentally notes how fucked up it is that he feels a weird sort of kinship with the other in this moment. Not for the first time, he’s stricken with just how similar they are, but this… Pete wouldn’t wish this on anyone. He’d give anything to not share this with Gabe.

When Gabe’s cries finally begin to quiet, Pete gently presses him into the bed. He ignores Gabe’s half-hearted protests and drapes himself across Gabe’s chest, listening to his heart beat in his chest. Silence hangs over them for a while before Pete whispers, “Tomorrow we’re talking. I don’t give a shit about your bullshit excuses, either.” 

Gabe huffs indignantly, but he wraps an arm around Pete and doesn’t protest further.

Satisfied, Pete quiets down after that. He waits for Gabe’s soft snoring before he lets himself fall asleep, lulled by the sound of Gabe’s steady heartbeat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting Gabe to talk is easier said than done...

Pete would like to say that he was the first to wake up and that he made a nice breakfast for the two of them to devour together. Unfortunately, he’s never been one for mornings, especially not after a late night, so when he wakes up, Gabe isn’t in bed anymore. Complete and utter panic wash over him, expelling any drowsiness from his body as he scrambles out of bed. Throwing the door open and stepping into a painfully vacant living room, Pete tries not to think of all the horrible things Gabe could've done while he was asleep.

Just as Pete's about to start hyperventilating, a muffled flushing sound comes from behind the bathroom door, and Pete feels like a complete and utter idiot. He sags onto the couch and waits for Gabe to come out of the bathroom, taking a moment to collect himself. If Gabe knew Pete had freaked out over nothing, he'd never let him live it down.

On second thought..., Pete thinks when he catches sight of Gabe, On second thought, I don't think Gabe's going to joke around anytime soon. Gabe is extremely pale, to the point where he almost looks sickly, his red, swollen eyes a stark contrast. His clothes are hanging off him in a way that suggests he’s been wearing them for a while, and Pete wonders just how long Gabe’s been moping around by himself.

Gabe scowls at Pete's staring, and he flips him off just in case the scowl wasn't enough. "Keep staring, and I'll gouge your fucking eyes out."

"I think the saying goes 'take a picture; it'll last longer,'" Pete hums in response, finally tearing his eyes away from the other. He pats the cushion beside him on the couch. "Come here. We're due a little chat."

Grunting eloquently, Gabe shoves his hands in his pockets and shuffles over to Pete. “What’s there to talk about? You’re not my fucking therapist,” he mutters. He meets Pete’s eyes with a stormy expression for a moment before he sits down beside him.

“I never claimed to be your shrink, asshole. I’m your friend. Your best friend, who walked in on your suicide attempt last night. As a veteran of these things myself, I’d like to think I can offer an understanding ear. Or at least provide a distraction until I think you’ll be alright,” Pete murmurs, and he knocks his elbow against Gabe’s. 

Gabe is silent for a long time. Finally, he mutters, “A few days of hanging out isn’t going to make things better.” It’s a statement, plain and simple--no bitter undertones or venomous bite. Just the reality of things.

Pete leans into him, and he sighs quietly. “No, it won’t. But it means a few days where you don’t have to be alone.”

“If I wanted company, I would’ve asked,” Gabe murmurs, but he leans back against Pete and throws his feet up on the coffee table in front of them.

Silence settles over the room for a little while, and Pete contents himself with just listening to Gabe breathe. To calm his impatient mind, he reminds himself how close he got to never hearing that sound again, and for a little while, hearing Gabe breathe is just enough.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what you want to hear,” Gabe admits. His voice, albeit quiet, seems to echo in the room. 

Pete shrugs. “Just talk about whatever. I’m not really expecting much. You don’t even have to tell me anything. I just want to know that you’ll be okay,” he replies honestly.

“Can’t really promise you that, either.” 

“Then I’ll stay. What’s on TV today? Anything good?” Pete asks, reaching for the remote on the armrest and turning on the TV in front of them. He flips through the channels for a while, never really stopping long enough to even recognize what’s on. It doesn’t take long before he turns the TV off and sets the remote down again. “Okay, I lied. I’m worried. I know it’s hypocritical, but damn it, Gabe, I didn’t even know anything was wrong. Like, at all, and now this? What the hell?” 

“I know. I’m good at hiding it. I always have been. I mean, how am I supposed to make those emo kids dance if I’m just a depressing fucker myself? Nah, the party persona’s much better,” Gabe explains with a small smile. “Too bad that’s not reality.”

“Dude, you’re the shittiest at answering my questions. I want to know what’s wrong, not how you’ve eluded your horde of groupies,” Pete grumbles, elbowing Gabe’s side.

Gabe stares at Pete for a few moments, holding his side and frowning. “You have got to get better at this whole ‘comforting’ thing, man. You’re so shit at it,” he complains.

Pete shrugs and smiles. “But you’re going to tell me all your problems anyway.”

“Like I said before, asshole, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m just depressed. I can’t sleep, I’m stressed, and sometimes things get worse after I’ve been drinking,” Gabe mutters, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have to have some big, grand reason for blowing my brains out, do I? I’m just fucking tired. I feel that that justifies it enough.”

“Being tired and wanting to die are two different things. What really happened? You’re holding out on me,” Pete insists. He nudges at Gabe again. “C’mon, tell me,” he whines.

“Fuck off, Pete,” Gabe grumbles, pushing Pete away. He leans away from him on the couch, not even looking in his direction.

“Gabe, please. I just… You scared the shit out of me last night. I don’t want to lose you, dude; life would be way too boring without you. You’ve taken me in god knows how many times before when I’ve been upset. Why can’t you just let me in that brain of yours for a second?” Pete pleads, looking down at his own hands and biting his lip.

The couch creaks as Gabe leans over and pulls Pete into a hug. “I’m sorry. I just got lost in my head last night. I’m fine, okay? I promise,” he whispers.

It’s not the great reveal that Pete had wanted, but he knows that’s the best he’s going to get at the moment, so he just hugs Gabe back. “Don’t do it again. If you get lost again, call me. I’ll be here,” he mutters seriously.

Gabe pulls away and leans back against the couch. “I will. Thanks,” he says sincerely. He even gives Pete a small smile. 

Pete just rolls his eyes and grabs for the remote again. “No problem. Really, though, is there anything good on?” 

“Just reality TV,” is the reply.

Grinning, Pete surfs the channels until he finds MTV. “Aw, shit, Real World’s a thing, isn’t it?” 

\---

Pete stays until it gets dark out, and he only leaves after Gabe promises to call if he needs anything. 

He just doesn’t expect to get the call as soon as he does.

**Author's Note:**

> either the worst/best thing i've written in a long time, depending on how much this fever is messing me up.


End file.
